


good love is on the way

by whisperedwords



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Future Fic, POV Stiles, Stiles and Lydia dated but it's not weird guys don't worry, Strangers to Lovers, Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 06:11:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4614210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whisperedwords/pseuds/whisperedwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles Stilinski's ex-girlfriend, Lydia Martin, invited him to her wedding with a 'plus one' attached to his invitation. Stiles is currently without a plus one. Thank god for his best friend's girlfriend's best friend, who happens to be free that night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	good love is on the way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thenewromantics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenewromantics/gifts).



> a birthday gift for kate, my #1 stalia hoe!!!!! i don't write stiles/malia that often (this is actually my first full-fledged fic with them, oops) so please let me know if they're ooc!
> 
>  
> 
> ps: shoutout to amanda yukimuramccall for beta reading this! i would be nowhere without ur guidance.

Stiles Stilinski has been dreading this day for months, now. It might as well have been a big flashing warning sign: “ALERT. ALERT. MAY 23RD IS COMING.” He rolls over in his bed and sighs, picking up the long-since discarded invitation that had come in the mail. It’s his ex-girlfriend Lydia’s wedding, and she’d invited him to come with a plus one. Now, he’s got nothing against her—they remained friends after they broke up, and he had even helped set her up with her current fiancé-soon-to-be-husband, Jordan.

He’s happy for them. He really is.

(His relationship with her had been rocky—though they’d been friends for years before, the romance aspect of things threw a wrench in their communication skills, and they struggled for a few years before they mutually came to a close. He loves her, but not the way he thought he would’ve all those years ago.)

He’s _not_ happy about the fact that, at this moment, he’s pathetically single and trapped in his apartment half the day working on cases for the precinct he’s interning in. And now, here he is, on the day of her wedding, without a plus-one and thus doomed to humiliate himself in front of his friend and her fiancé/husband.

May 23rd is going to be the date printed on his death certificate, he’s sure. He drags himself up and out of bed and to the kitchen, where a pot of day-old coffee is sitting on the counter and calling his name. He grabs a mug from the sink and proceeds to pour his saving grace—it’s about then that his phone rings.

“Hello?”

“Stiles!” Scott, his best friend, sounds particularly excited this morning, and it’s contagious—despite his situation, Stiles finds himself grinning at the sound of his voice. “I’m about to save your _ass_ , man. I was talking to Kira, and her best friend isn’t doing anything tonight.”

Wait. “You mean…”

“Bro, I got you a date to Lydia’s wedding.” He can practically _see_ the lopsided grin on Scott’s face. And, oh my god, he’s not going to look _pathetic_ tonight. He does a really exaggerated fist pump-jumping motion for a solid 30 seconds before he remembers he’s still on the phone.

“Scott McCall, you are the light of my life. Oh my god. You’re my _actual_ saving grace, holy shit, I love you, man.” Scott laughs on the other end of the phone. “Can you let her know she needs to be here by, like, 4? I’m leaving for the church before 4:30 because I don’t want to be late.”

“Dude, if you’re late, Lydia is going to skin you _alive_ and I’m gonna laugh.”

What a best friend. Stiles rolls his eyes and shakes his head fondly. “Thanks for having my back, Scotty.”

“Anytime, bro. See you at the church.” As soon as Scott hangs up, Stiles lets out a ridiculous hoot of excitement.

He just hopes his date doesn’t mind his endless sarcastic commentary throughout the ceremony.

* * *

 

It’s just his luck that, when 4:00 rolls around, there is _no_ Mystery Friend in sight. He’s been in his tux for 45 minutes, trying to fix the buttons and his tie, and it’s just been a really stressful hour beyond that. His only hope was that his date wouldn’t be late—but obviously, seeing as it’s him he’s talking about, that’s not going to happen. 4:00 rolls into 4:05, which drags on into 4:10, and he’s seriously about to panic-call Scott at 4:20 when there’s a knock at his door.

Thank god. He thinks he’s aged 10 years in the past 10 minutes.

He runs to the door and flings it open, only to find Scott, his girlfriend Kira, and a beautiful woman who looks around their age standing at his door staring at him. He raises his eyes at his best friend, who shrugs and then turns to look at Kira, who’s looking at the other woman. It hits him, then—neither Scott nor Kira are dressed up. There’s a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“Something’s come up with my parents.” Kira says quietly, noticing Stiles’ expression. “I can’t—I need to go be with them.” Scott pulls her into a sidehug, pressing his lips to the top of her head. He makes eye contact with Stiles, and mouths ‘Mom is sick’.

The other woman bites her lip and rests a reassuring hand on Kira’s shoulder before turning her attention to Stiles.

“I’m Malia.” She says, extending her hand. He takes it, and is shocked to find that Malia has a _very_ firm grip. She smiles at him, though, and the feeling of pain in his hand disappears, because _damn_ is she beautiful.

“Stiles.” He offers, after a moment. Then, turning to his friends: “I’m, uh, sorry guys. Give your parents my best wishes, K.” Kira smiles a little at him, watery at best, and then she and Scott turn around and walk back to their car. Malia is still standing in his doorway.

“So, are we gonna go or what?” She asks, her hair pulled up in a messy bun, glinting in the weird lighting that his apartment seems to always be subjected to. Oh, yeah. They’ve got a wedding to go to.

“Yeah! Yeah. I just. Uh. Gotta grab the gift and lock up.” He turns around and almost trips over a pillow he’d left on the floor the night before, eliciting a giggle from his mysterious date. (It’s a pretty sound, he thinks, right before _oh my god I can’t believe I just tripped over my own trash in front of my fake date_.) He turns his head and grins at her before running into his room and grabbing the small gift he’d gotten for Lydia and her fiancé. It’s a matching set of aprons—they’re that awful couple that cooks together and laughs and kisses and snuggles _while_ cooking. He’s experienced it firsthand, and it’s honestly gag-worthy.

Maybe Lydia will get that it’s a joke about how awful they are like that.

He makes sure to dodge the rest of the trash on his floor before locking his front door and heading out with Malia. His phone says that it’s 4:35, and he’s glad that he’s at least _kind of_ on schedule. They hop in the car, and he’s ready to make the drive over to the church.

* * *

 

Except, of course, that he had forgotten about traffic. And that’s what puts him and this (beautiful) stranger sitting next to him at a literal standstill.

“This looks like it goes on for at least a few miles,” She says, leaning her head out the window and craning her neck. “Probably half an hour. Maybe more.” Stiles cocks his head at her, raising his eyebrows questioningly. She ducks back inside the car and meets his questioning gaze with certainty. “What? I’ve been on the road for pretty much my entire life. I’m good at measuring traffic.”

Well, that’s a pretty heavy load of information. “That’s…interesting?” He tries, and she narrows her eyes at him. “I didn’t—I mean, I didn’t pin you to be a road child. You’re really put together and stuff. I don’t know. I’ve been living on ramen noodles and takeout for the past two years of my life so I’m not one to judge.” At that, Malia’s expression softens.

“I didn’t pin you to be a ramen noodles and takeout guy.” She’s smiling a little, now. He really likes it when she does that.

“Really?” He watches as her expression goes from smiling to something else, and it’s only when she lets out a little snort of laughter that he knows what it is. _Dammit_.

“Not really.” He gasps in mock horror. “Sorry! You’re just.” She pauses. “I’ve seen the inside of your apartment, Stiles. It’s kind of a mess.”

“Hey! My mess has _tons_ of character, I’ll have you know.” He defends, only half-serious, and she giggles again, nose wrinkling. “And besides. It’s a noble way to live.” The words linger in the air between them for a few moments before both of them break into ridiculous laughter.

The traffic doesn’t end up feeling that bad at all.

x

He refuses to admit that he cried during the ceremony. Nope. Not at all. No one has proof, and he was just having an allergic reaction to the high pollen count from outside when Lydia and Jordan kissed up on the altar. Yep. That’s what happened.

Malia leans against him at that point. He looks over at her, only to see _her_ crying, smiling but crying all the same. He’s not sure what provokes him to reach over and grab her hand, but he does it anyway, and she looks down at their hands for a moment before directing her smile at him.

His chest feels like it’s about to burst.

* * *

 

Later on, at the reception, they’re sitting together at the table, surrounded by almost complete strangers who he can only assume are family or friends of Jordan. He’d tried talking to a few of them, but all they can really do is gush about how happy they are for their friends, and as happy as Stiles is, too, he doesn’t need to hear the details about how _happy_ they make each other. It pretty much solidifies his feelings of loneliness, and he doesn’t want to deal with that right now.

Until he feels Malia’s hand rest on his shoulder. He turns to her. “Honey,” She says, “what are you guys talking about?” She bats her eyes, and oh god, Malia, _no_. She scoots closer to him, and the older man he had just been talking to (or, rather, talked at) looks between the two of them and smiles.

“How long have you two been together?” He asks, and _wow_ he did not think this part of the evening through.

“A few months,” Malia lies smoothly, squeezing him convincingly. “It feels like I’ve known him my whole life, though. Like, I never thought I would find somebody so _caring_ and _loving_ , but here he is. My man. My Stiles.” At that, she presses a really exaggerated kiss to his cheek, and Stiles doesn’t know whether to laugh or go along with it.

He chooses the latter.

“I didn’t think I’d ever find love again, after Lydia. But Malia here,” He rests a hand on hers, and he can see her trying to bite back a giggle. “She changed all that. I’ve spent my whole life looking for someone like her.” To his inner delight, the man they’re talking to looks fairly uncomfortable at the sudden declaration, and smiles tightly before turning away from them to join another conversation.

“Oh my god.” Malia says, once they’ve scooted away from the guy. “Tell you what—let’s try and make as many people here uncomfortable with our ‘relationship’.” She puts tiny little air quotes around the word, and it’s hard for him to not find adorable. And, god, the idea is tempting, but it’s Lydia…

“I don’t wanna be an ass to my friend’s new family.” He says, though it kills him.

“Stiles, it’s not like we’re going to go streaking or light the tent on fire. Besides. They’ve been making you uncomfortable with all their lovey-dovey talk _all_ night, have they not?” How does _she_ know that? “They’ve been doing the exact same thing to me. C’mon. Let’s shove our love in their faces and give them a taste of their own medicine.” He hesitates for a few seconds, thinking about it. Then—

“Fuck it. Let’s go, _baby_!” And so their night begins. It starts off innocent enough—they sit close to each other, Stiles resting his arm over her shoulders while they chat with random people. Malia leans her head on his shoulder and bats her eyelashes up at him and makes sure to use the word ‘love’ in every sentence. Stiles pretends to gaze at her lovingly while she speaks. It’s a pretty subtle thing. But the drinks start coming around, and Stiles quickly learns that Malia is pretty much Daredevil when she’s drunk, because the next conversation they have, she seats herself in his lap and grabs his arms, wrapping them around her waist.

“Play alonggggg,” She whispers, and he’s not too sober, either, so he does. She gets handsy and loud, and he can only laugh along with her when she giggles about how their _first time_ was _soooo_ embarrassing for both of them. They’ve crafted the story of their entire relationship within an hour of their first table discussion. With every story, their audience becomes more and more uncomfortable, until it’s a little past midnight, and they’re both stumbling drunk. Like, they can barely escort themselves out of the place without crashing into waiters. That kind of drunk.

Stiles, of course, has never been the best at holding alcohol _and_ food in his stomach at the same time, so he’s the one who has to run into the forest behind the event and purge his stomach. Malia follows, though a little slower, and she sits down next to him and rubs his back as he retches over a tree stump. It’s soothing, in a weird way.

“You okay?” She asks, after a few minutes. He lifts his head a little and grimaces at her, making her laugh. He seems to be good at that.

“Well, I feel like I just swallowed an entire colony of fire ants, but you know, other than that, I’m not bad.” He replies, and then holds up a hand before leaning back over to get sick again. He’s being very courteous by not puking on her nice dress. When his stomach decides to let up, he lifts his head again. “How are you?”

“I am soooo drunk.” Malia replies. “Are there three of you right now, or no? I’m asking for a friend.” She laughs at her own joke, which makes him snort. It’s really, _really_ endearing. “I had fun tonight, though. I hope your friend doesn’t get mad that we totally groped each other in front of her family at one point.”

“Ahh, Lydia’s been through worse, believe me. We dated. She has _definitely_ been through worse.”

“You two dated?” Malia asks, cocking her head to the side. Her hair is falling out of its updo, and Stiles has half a mind to reach out and tuck it behind her ear. Then again, he’s not sure he’s coordinated to do that—he doesn’t want to accidentally slap her in the face because that would probably ruin the moment.

“Yeah. For a couple of years. It was fun, at first, but we just didn’t…click. You know? We were on separate wavelengths.” He sighs, and she watches him with her big brown eyes. (There are flecks of blue in there, he _swears_. They might be the most beautiful pair of eyes he’s seen.)

“Yeah. Yeah, I know what that’s like.” She looks down at her hands for a moment, but then looks back up at him. “I’m glad you two didn’t work out.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Because I wouldn’t have been invited to her sorta-stuffy wedding, forced to be the pretend date of her weird, gangly ex-boyfriend with a really cute smile.” At that, her small smile gets huge. “So, you know. I’m glad.” Stiles raises his eyebrows at her, and his stomach does another flip, but it’s not because of the alcohol, or the food, or the ridiculously sappy music still blaring through the speaker system right now.

“I’ve got a really cute smile?” He asks, trying to fight back a grin and failing. “Hm. You shoulda told me that earlier.” He leans in a little bit.

“Why’s that?” Malia asks. (She knows why.)

“Because…” He closes the distance between them and presses his lips to hers chastely. She’s still under his lips, but not stiff—one of her hands comes up to cup his cheek.

“I might be drunk off my _ass_ right now,” She says when they part, “but you literally just puked your dinner up, and I’m not going to kiss you until you brush your teeth a _few_ times.” He grins at that.

“Yeah, yeah. Fair enough. Maybe some other time, though?”

“Definitely.”

* * *

 

Lydia calls him a week later, while he’s buried deep in the contents of an unlabeled manila folder.

“How’s the honeymoon going, L?” Stiles asks when he picks up, splaying the contents of the folder out on his messy desk. He can hear the smile in her voice when she replies.

“Relaxing. Refreshing. I got a _lot_ more flexible—”

“Oh my GOD Lydia I do not need to hear the details please stop talking.” She laughs.

“I’m kidding, Stiles, relax. I was just calling to thank you for the gift. Jordan hasn’t taken off his apron all weekend.”

“Please tell me you mean that in a ‘he has been cooking non-stop’ way and not any other kind of weird kinky thing you guys have been doing. Please.”

“Stiles.” She doesn’t say anything for a moment, and _god_.

“You know, you’re the worst.”

“I was _also_ calling to ask—who was your date? She seemed really sweet. And drunk.”

Stiles laughs, and then thinks back on it. Malia…he’s got to get her number from Kira. “Her name’s Malia.”

“You two seem really happy.” Lydia’s voice is soft, in that really genuine way that’s so her. And then— “Don’t fuck this one up, Stilinski. She _actually_ seems really into you, which I don’t really get.”

“Can’t I catch a _break_ with you?” He asks exasperatedly, and she laughs again. “Go have fun being kinky with your weird deputy boyfriend. Be safe. Use protection!” She hangs up on him.

A few moments later, his phone buzzes. It’s from a number he doesn’t know, but he answers it anyway—it might be work related, after all.

“Hello?”

“So I’m totally, 100% sober right now, and I still want to kiss you.” Malia’s voice echoes through the phone, and Stiles grins wider than he thought he’d been capable of. He fist pumps and jumps for a few seconds before returning to his conversation.

“Tell me where to pick you up and I’ll be there in 10.”


End file.
